The Death of his Bella
by madisonhagan1
Summary: What Lord Voldemort thought as Molly Weasley killed his Bella. His best, most loved, most loyal, Death Eater. After Harry defeated him, Harry reads a note that he found in Voldemort's hands after he killed him, something that may change his views on the man he once thought was evil and emotionless.


Voldemort was now dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley all at once, and there was cold hatred in his face as they wove and ducked around him, unable to finish him—

Bellatrix was still fighting too, forty yards away from Lord Voldemort, and like her master, She was strong. She dueled three at once: Hermione, Ginny, and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them and more, and Harry's attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch—

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU _BITCH!_"

Mrs. Weasley threw off her black cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun around on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" shouted Mrs. Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand she began to duel. Harry watched with terror and elation, still under his invisibility cloak as Molly Weasley's wand slashed and twisted with every flick of her wrist, and Bellatrix Lestrange's smile faltered and became a snarl. Jets of light, green and orang, flew from both wands, the floor around the witches' feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

"No!" Mrs. Weasley cried as a few students ran forward, trying to come to her aid. Somehow hoping to help their friend in her battle with the powerful witch. "Get back! Get back! She is _mine_!"

Hundreds and hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the two fights, Voldemort and his three opponents, Bellatrix, Molly, and Harry stood, invisible, torn between both, both wanting to attack and yet to protect, unable to be sure that he would not hit the innocent.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly's curses danced around her graceful body as she dodged each spell. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Fred- die?"

"You — will — never — touch — our — children — again!" screamed Mrs. Weasley.

Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated high pitch laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backward through the veil, and suddenly Harry knew what was going to happen before it even did.

Molly's curse soared beneath Bellatrix's long outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix's gloating smile froze, her beautiful plump lips pursed, and her large green eyes began to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled. The watching crowd roared, and she saw, happily that Voldemort screamed. She knew this may not be a sign of love, but at least she knew he cared. That was all she needed, she could die happy now...

Voldemort had felt it, even before he had turned around. He knew his Bella was dead.

"Bella..." His eyes moved and found the location of her dead body, A body so full of life, so energetic, now cold and rigid on the ground. And she was looking at him, she had wanted him to be the last thing she saw.

Her green eyes were dull, not full of light like they always were. Like they always gleamed at the sight of him. Yet now she was staring back, no emotion visible on her face except pain. But still there was a small smile as she laid dead, staring at her master.

Harry felt as though he turned in slow motion; he saw McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn blasted backward, flailing and writhing in pain, through the air, as Voldemort's fury at the fall of his last, most loved, best lieutenant exploded with the force of a bomb. Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley. Bellatrix's killer.

Bellatrix.

Bella.

Bella.

_Bella_.

_His Bella._

_She had killed his Bella._

"This is for you Bella!" His snake-like nostrils flared, and for a moment he thought he had felt a tear roll down his cheek.

"Protego!" Roared Harry, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last.

The yell of shock, the cheers and the screams on rung around every side of the building, "Harry!" "HE'S ALIVE!" were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked into each other's eyes, Green and scarlet red. And began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

"I don't want anyone else to try and help." Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Voldemort hissed.

"Potter doesn't mean that," he said, his red eyes wide. "That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

"Nobody," said Harry simply. "There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good..."

"One of us?" jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taunt and his red eyes stared, like a snake that was about to strike. "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?" asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry, no face existed but Voldemort's. "Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

"Accidents!" screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if Petrified, and of the hundreds in the Hall, nobody seemed to breathe but them two. "Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," said Harry as they circled, and continued to stare into each other's eyes. "You won't be able to kill any of them ever again."

"Neither will you!" Voldemort screamed, thinking of Bellatrix.

"Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people—"

"But you did not!"

"—I meant to, and that's what it did. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, do you, Riddle?"

"You dare—"

"Yes, I dare," said Harry. "I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?"

Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and Harry knew that he kept him temporarily mesmerized and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret. . . .

"Is it love again?" said Voldemort, his snake's face jeering. "Apparently love does not save all..." He looked back at Bellatrix's body lying on the cold, hard, ground. Harry looked too, confused. "Dumbledore's favorite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter—and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you from dying now when I strike?"

"Just one thing," said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

"If it is not love that will save you this time," said Voldemort, "You must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"

"I believe both," said Harry, and he saw shock flit across the snakelike face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humorless and insane, it echoed around the silent Hall.

"You think you know more magic than I do?" he said. "Than I, than Lord Voldemort, he who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?"

"Oh, he dreamed of it," said Harry, "but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done."

"You mean he was weak!" screamed Voldemort. "Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!"

"No, he was cleverer than you," said Harry, "a better wizard, a better man."

"I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!"

"You thought you did," said Harry, "but you were wrong." For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one.

"Dumbledore is dead! " Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as though they would cause him unendurable pain. "His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle. I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!"

"Yes, Dumbledore's dead," said Harry calmly, "but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

"What childish dream is this?" said Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and his red eyes did not waver from Harry's own green.

"Severus Snape wasn't yours," said Harry. "Snape was Dumbledore's. Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?"

Voldemort did not answer. They continued to circle each other, like wolves about to tear each other apart.

"Snape's Patronus was a doe," said Harry, "the same as my mother's, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, fell in love with her from the time when they were children till the day he died. You should have realized," he said as he saw Voldemort's nostrils flare, "he asked you to spare her life, didn't he?"

"He desired her, that was all," sneered Voldemort, "but when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him—"

"Of course he told you that," said Harry, "but he was Dumbledore's spy from the moment you threatened her, and he's been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!"

"It matters not!" shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great love! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand! Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy—I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up, I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, it did," said Harry. "You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done. . . . Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle. . . ."

"What is this?"

Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like this. Harry saw his pupils contact to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten.

"It's your one last chance," said Harry, "it's all you've got left. . . . I've seen what you'll be otherwise...Be a man ... try ... Try for some remorse. . . ."

"You dare—?" said Voldemort again.

"Yes, I dare," said Harry, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."

Voldemort's hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco's very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away.

"That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed—"

"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"

"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" Voldemort's voice shook with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! It's power is mine!"

"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard . . . . The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance. . . .

Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Blank shock showed in Voldemort's face for a moment, but then it was gone.

"But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone . . . and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy. . . . And Molly Weasley!"

"But you're too late," said Harry. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."

Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does . . . I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

"I will avenge my Bellatrix!" He screamed in rage, sadness, and hatred. Putting all of his energy into his next spell. "

Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of a Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. His last thought was of Bellatrix. She would never know his feelings towards her, and he knew her dying wish was just that, him telling her he loved her. And he did. He knew he did. He was even going to hand her the letter he held in his pocket, now in his hand, that would reveal everything to her, just in case one of them would die today. But he was too afraid. Yes, the Dark Lord was afraid of love. And he had lost this war. And his chance. But he hoped there was an afterlife, maybe then he could be with his Bella. Hopefully she would forgive him...

Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspend: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Spout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last.

He looked down at Voldemort one more time to see if it was real, if everything was real. And it was, he was not dreaming, this was reality He had did it, truly did it.

He saw something in Voldemort's cold, stiff hands. He reached down and picked up an old piece of parchment. Voldemort must have reached for it as he died. Was it a weapon somehow? Was it important?

He opened the yellow page and was shocked at was he saw. The letter read:

_My dear Bella...If you are reading this it means I have gotten over my fear of telling you the truth. The real truth. Something no one would ever expect to come from my mouth. But even I, the Dark Lord have feelings, feeling that I don't understand. Feelings I thought were impossible to feel. After all, I was conceived under a love potion, I should be unable to love. But I do. I have these...These Feelings I thought I would never experience. But I feel them, these emotions running through my body every time I lay my eyes on you._

_Your beautiful body, your bright, shining eyes as they gaze up with me with such adoration, such love, and loyalty it makes me shiver. _

_Your skin, with such softness and warmth, it melts my worries away._

_Your lips, so full and pump, the scarlet red sears my flesh and bone. How I would love to plant a kiss on those lips of yours. But alas, love is for the weak...Isn't it? If I kissed you...Just this once. Would it make me weak?_

_And your crazy personality, how I love that laugh, the high pitch laugh that would make all men doubt their abilities, the laugh that make grown men falter and run for their lives. It sends shivers down my spine. It makes me smile, you make me smile._

_And your voice, your seductive, beautiful voice is like a silver bell as it rings in my ears. Each word you say stays in my mind. I remember every syllable you speak. Every sentence you say, every memory of you, I keep._

_And I admire you, you and your strength and bravery. For you follow me not because you fear me but because you believe in everything I do. Because you love me, love me unconditionally. And like you, I've loved you since the day we first met._

_I'll always cherish the time we spent together. Always._

_If you die, know this. I will avenge your death. And if I die. I hope there is an afterlife, some place I can see you again. Feel you in my arms. Some place we could be together forever._

_Thank you for being such a loyal follower. You were always my best, my strongest, my most loyal Death Eater._

_And thank you for showing me a life I could have had. And if we both live, and win this war, know this: I love you, my Bella. I always will. And we will be together, somehow, I promise._

_Love Lord Voldemort, forever yours, Tom._


End file.
